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Haven't written any D/s fiction for a while.  Re-reading the last one, finding some inevitable similarities.  Well, I've only been blessed with one kinky mind.  Which is better than none at all I guess.

My D/s fiction tends to be a pretext for a session or multi-sessions.  Good for setting tone, but not overly prescriptive about the session(s) itself.  I'm drawn to non-consensual or limited consent scenes that don't place too many burdens on the dominatrix to orchestrate; or "acting" duties for myself, which would be the source of endless cringing for the dominatrix.  I "roleplay" as a shy, over-committed professional in need of very dominant guidance.  In real life, I am a shy, over-committed professional in need of very dominant guidance.  It's mostly a session-triggering backstory then, but hopefully entertaining to a certain mindset.  Use the keywords to see if it's up your alley or would bore you to tears.

A disclaimer: The Goddess in the story takes advantage of how easily she can turn her prey into a helpless puddle of submission - for which she can easily get him fired.  It's not in any way a negative reference to #MeToo which I full-heartedly endorse.  It's a fantasy only.  The Goddess is quite ethical.  But she knows her prey would benefit from knowing he has no choice but to do things her way..

***

Master.

One of my company’s VIP clients is FF Consulting.  Exactly what they do is only known to a few senior executives, but it is a thriving business and they are treated with the highest degree of deference and care whenever they visit our office. 

One day a representative from FF is in the office for meetings.  Professional attire fails to conceal the fact that she is an utter Goddess.  And there is just a hint of fetish in her choice of accessories. 

She has a particular gift for  shape-shifting seamlessly between cult-worthy ethereal seductress and (relatively) innocent young professional.  I first see her as I am getting in an elevator and hold the door for her.  I immediately start looking down at the floor once the doors close.  I am used to being invisible to women like her. 

She reminds me that I didn’t ask her floor.  “Oh, sorry - which floor?”  I press it and resume looking at the floor.  I feel her looking at me appraisingly as I keep my gaze lowered. 

“Do you like my shoes, little one?”

Little one?  I am older, taller, larger.  Yet it sounds so right coming from her. 

“Yes--”  It is out of my mouth before I know it.  I am praying someone else gets on the elevator, but it keeps moving..

“You’re a shy girl, aren’t you?  I like shy girls.”

Right then, it was over.  She had already made up her mind about me.  My shyness was like waving red meat in front of a lioness.  From that point on she never referred to me or related to me as anything but her little girl, her bitch, her filthy whore.  Slave girl.  Not even slave boy.

She grabbed my name tag and read it. 

“Mark, is it?  Mark dear, we need to talk later.”

I jumped back behind my professional facade.  “I have meetings all day.  I’m sure we have excellent people who can help you.  I’ll just—“

“I don’t need help.  And you will be excused from your meetings.  Now be a good girl and go get me a water.  I’ll be in conference room A.”

Be a good girl?  But I went back downstairs and bought 3 kinds of water not knowing which kind she liked.  I recovered myself and knew what to do.  I’d bring her water, show her my calendar with meetings all day and then offer to find literally anyone in the company to see to her needs. 

 

I found her alone in her reserved conference room.  A sign outside said she was not to be disturbed…

She smiled at my 3 kinds of water.  “What an earnest little princess.  You would make a Mistress very proud.”

I was blushing uncontrollably. Then I remembered my calendar.  I opened my phone to show her.  “You see as I was saying before I’m very—“  But when I looked I saw that I was excused from all of that day’s meetings.  And as her stern visage indicated, she already knew.

“Never contradict me, pet.  That will cost you 25 but only because it is your first offense.”

“25?”

“Strokes with my crop.  On your pretty ass.  I like to leave marks.  Not today but soon enough.  Still, I will remember your total.  So no more rudeness, understood?”

“Yes….”  I was looking down again.  Bewildered.

"Yes, what?”

“Yes…Mistress?”  I guessed that was the title expected.

“No, silly.  Slave boys have Mistresses.  Slave girls have Masters.”  Then her tone changed from gentle correction to pure dominance.  “Say it!”

“Yes…Master...”

“Good girl!  See how easily that fell from your slutty lips?  Run along now.  Master is having your email and phone hacked and reviewing your credit card statements.  I have some suspicions that I believe will be confirmed shortly.”

My eyes popped.  Could she really do this?  But she already had my day’s meetings cancelled.  Was she about to find all the BDSM pictures and videos I had downloaded?  Every single one depicted total male submission.  And all of the forced feminization materials.  Even submission to transsexual Mistresses. 

She would also find my attempts to locate a therapist to “make my fantasies go away.”  And the therapists’ analysis that my desires were perfectly healthy; and my insurance company's refusal to let me seek a 3rd and 4th opinion on a closed matter for an imaginary "problem"......

She would also find all the purchases of plugs, gags, restraints, chastity devices. The very picture of the reluctant, confused submissive.  Everything she thought I was from the first "shy girl" moment in the elevator. 

I sat at my desk fighting a panic which was made worse by the fact that I had literally nothing to do.  Finally around noon an email popped up from HR.  It was notice of a status update.  My gender had officially been changed from "male" to "intersex" on all my personnel records.  The change was approved several management levels above me but made to look like it was done at my request.  As I stared at this bizarre document trying to make sense of it, my phone rang.  

“Get back up here NOW, bitch."  She hung up immediately.  My panic rose 3 orders of magnitude.

 

When I got back to the room she closed and locked the door behind me.  Her teasing tone was gone.

“On your knees, hands behind your back, eyes on the floor.”  It was clear that she had given that command countless times.  I was finding it impossible to recall that I was older, taller, anything.  I felt powerless and deeply naive in her presence.

“You have very interesting browser history and credit card receipts.  Did you think I wouldn’t find out, slut?”

“No, I-“

She slapped me.  “No, what?”

“No, Master.”

She soothed my slapped cheek and her tone became gentle again.  “Always be honest with me.  There is no way to hide anything from me.  Don’t try.  Ever.  Understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

I was embarrassingly aroused and jutting out of my pants; I wanted to cover up with my hands but was required to keep them behind my back.  She rubbed me with her spiked heel, making matters much worse.  Suddenly she grabbed my hair to make me face her.

“Why isn’t your clit locked up?  You have a chastity device.  Why aren’t you wearing it?”

I was thrown off by the word 'clit' and took a moment too long to reply, resulting in another slap.  I felt like my 25 strokes was about to go up.

“I just got it to experiment, Master.”

“Am I an experiment, slave?”

Slave?  It was one thing to be required to call Her Master.  It was another for Her to call me slave.  I felt like I was in a locked room with the water up to my chin and my ankles chained to the floor.

“No, Master.  No.”

“Then shave it and lock it and keep it shaved and locked.  I won’t tell you again."

“Yes, Master.”

She took a picture of me with her phone, one that would suffice to end my career at this firm or any other.  The water was continuing to rise in my locked room. 

"You do know, don’t you, how easily you can be terminated now?  Behaving so obscenely in front of your most important client?” 

“I know, Master…” 

Doubtless she would switch off her insanely seductive dominance when dragging me in front of HR and instead present herself as the offended, completely innocent representative of a client who, let's be honest, could have me thrown off the roof if they wanted to.  But as I was trying to come to grips with my permanent unemployability, she lifted my chin again to speak.

“But we don’t want that, do we?.  So I will see you on Saturday night.  Dress the part.”

“What is the 'part,' Master?”

“Master’s new slut.  Master’s new whore.  Master’s new bitch.  Master’s new slave girl.  White with red accents would work.  White because you are a virgin.  Red because you are a slut.”

Virgin?  It was true.  That was why everything was upside down.  Why she could call me "little one" and not seem to simply be playing a part herself.  It was why it sounded absolutely correct.  Because in her world, I was a virgin. 

 

On Saturday I was directed to wait in a room, facing the wall with my arms and legs spread like a perp.  I was “dressed for the part” in mostly white but red panties.  I was also plugged and had leashes attached to my slave collar and chastity device.  And shaved bare.

She kept me waiting.  I doubted she was ever late for anything.  She simply wanted me to learn to wait for her.

 

I knew not to turn around when she entered.  She walked up behind me, took a firm hold of the leash between my legs, and breathed in my ear.  “Good girl.”

And right then, counter-intuitively, I knew I would be ok.  Broken, violated in ways I couldn't even imagine, psychologically reprogrammed as whatever she wanted me to be.  But ok.  Even cherished if I accepted the inevitable without conditions.  And the inevitable was to become whatever she considered a “good girl."

She handed me a large garbage bag.  "For your first task, put everything on the table in this bag and deposit it by the door so it can go out with the evening trash."

"Yes, Master."  I was eager to show my capacity for unthinking compliance.  But when I turned and saw Master in a breathtaking latex dress, I began to wobble.  She had, after all, kept me locked up all week and now presented me with this excruciatingly hot sight....  But tidying up would at least occupy my mind for a few moments. 

Then I saw what she had piled on the table for me to discard with that night's trash: my male clothing and the keys to my chastity device.  I froze, taking in the threshold I was about to cross.  Or be forced to cross.  My delay was cut short as her crop crashed down on my ass giving me my first welt. 

"Never hesitate, slave.  Everything I tell you to do is good for you, whether you understand it or not.  So simply obey without thinking.  That will cost you another 25."

"Yes, Master."  The water was rising again, but somehow I didn't care.  i would have to learn to be a fish.  Master smiled ever so slightly as I began to stuff everything in the bag.  That smile was all the oxygen I needed.
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On 11/11/2018 at 9:26 AM, ConsentOptional said:

Haven't written any D/s fiction for a while.  Re-reading the last one, finding some inevitable similarities.  Well, I've only been blessed with one kinky mind.  Which is better than none at all I guess.

My D/s fiction tends to be a pretext for a session or multi-sessions.  Good for setting tone, but not overly prescriptive about the session(s) itself.  I'm drawn to non-consensual or limited consent scenes that don't place too many burdens on the dominatrix to orchestrate; or "acting" duties for myself, which would be the source of endless cringing for the dominatrix.  I "roleplay" as a shy, over-committed professional in need of very dominant guidance.  In real life, I am a shy, over-committed professional in need of very dominant guidance.  It's mostly a session-triggering backstory then, but hopefully entertaining to a certain mindset.  Use the keywords to see if it's up your alley or would bore you to tears.

A disclaimer: The Goddess in the story takes advantage of how easily she can turn her prey into a helpless puddle of submission - for which she can easily get him fired.  It's not in any way a negative reference to #MeToo which I full-heartedly endorse.  It's a fantasy only.  The Goddess is quite ethical.  But she knows her prey would benefit from knowing he has no choice but to do things her way..

***

Master.

One of my company’s VIP clients is FF Consulting.  Exactly what they do is only known to a few senior executives, but it is a thriving business and they are treated with the highest degree of deference and care whenever they visit our office. 

 

 

 

One day a representative from FF is in the office for meetings.  Professional attire fails to conceal the fact that she is an utter Goddess.  And there is just a hint of fetish in her choice of accessories. 

She has a particular gift for  shape-shifting seamlessly between cult-worthy ethereal seductress and (relatively) innocent young professional.  I first see her as I am getting in an elevator and hold the door for her.  I immediately start looking down at the floor once the doors close.  I am used to being invisible to women like her. 

She reminds me that I didn’t ask her floor.  “Oh, sorry - which floor?”  I press it and resume looking at the floor.  I feel her looking at me appraisingly as I keep my gaze lowered. 

 

“Do you like my shoes, little one?”

 

Little one?  I am older, taller, larger.  Yet it sounds so right coming from her. 

 

 

 

“Yes--”  It is out of my mouth before I know it.  I am praying someone else gets on the elevator, but it keeps moving..

“You’re a shy girl, aren’t you?  I like shy girls.”

 

Right then, it was over.  She had already made up her mind about me.  My shyness was like waving red meat in front of a lioness.  From that point on she never referred to me or related to me as anything but her little girl, her bitch, her filthy whore.  Slave girl.  Not even slave boy.

 

She grabbed my name tag and read it. 

 

“Mark, is it?  Mark dear, we need to talk later.”

 

I jumped back behind my professional facade.  “I have meetings all day.  I’m sure we have excellent people who can help you.  I’ll just—“

 

“I don’t need help.  And you will be excused from your meetings.  Now be a good girl and go get me a water.  I’ll be in conference room A.”

 

Be a good girl?  But I went back downstairs and bought 3 kinds of water not knowing which kind she liked.  I recovered myself and knew what to do.  I’d bring her water, show her my calendar with meetings all day and then offer to find literally anyone in the company to see to her needs. 

 

I found her alone in her reserved conference room.  A sign outside said she was not to be disturbed…

She smiled at my 3 kinds of water.  “What an earnest little princess.  You would make a Mistress very proud.”

 

I was blushing uncontrollably. Then I remembered my calendar.  I opened my phone to show her.  “You see as I was saying before I’m very—“  But when I looked I saw that I was excused from all of that day’s meetings.  And as her stern visage indicated, she already knew.

 

“Never contradict me, pet.  That will cost you 25 but only because it is your first offense.”

 

“25?”

 

“Strokes with my crop.  On your pretty ass.  I like to leave marks.  Not today but soon enough.  Still, I will remember your total.  So no more rudeness, understood?”

 

“Yes….”  I was looking down again.  Bewildered.

 

"Yes, what?”

 

“Yes…Mistress?”  I guessed that was the title expected.

 

“No, silly.  Slave boys have Mistresses.  Slave girls have Masters.”  Then her tone changed from gentle correction to pure dominance.  “Say it!”

 

“Yes…Master...”

“Good girl!  See how easily that fell from your slutty lips?  Run along now.  Master is having your email and phone hacked and reviewing your credit card statements.  I have some suspicions that I believe will be confirmed shortly.”

 

My eyes popped.  Could she really do this?  But she already had my day’s meetings cancelled.  Was she about to find all the BDSM pictures and videos I had downloaded?  Every single one depicted total male submission.  And all of the forced feminization materials.  Even submission to transsexual Mistresses. 

She would also find my attempts to locate a therapist to “make my fantasies go away.”  And the therapists’ analysis that my desires were perfectly healthy; and my insurance company's refusal to let me seek a 3rd and 4th opinion on a closed matter for an imaginary "problem"......

 

 

 

She would also find all the purchases of plugs, gags, restraints, chastity devices. The very picture of the reluctant, confused submissive.  Everything she thought I was from the first "shy girl" moment in the elevator. 

I sat at my desk fighting a panic which was made worse by the fact that I had literally nothing to do.  Finally around noon an email popped up from HR.  It was notice of a status update.  My gender had officially been changed from "male" to "intersex" on all my personnel records.  The change was approved several management levels above me but made to look like it was done at my request.  As I stared at this bizarre document trying to make sense of it, my phone rang.  

 

“Get back up here NOW, bitch."  She hung up immediately.  My panic rose 3 orders of magnitude.

 

 

When I got back to the room she closed and locked the door behind me.  Her teasing tone was gone.

 

“On your knees, hands behind your back, eyes on the floor.”  It was clear that she had given that command countless times.  I was finding it impossible to recall that I was older, taller, anything.  I felt powerless and deeply naive in her presence.

 

“You have very interesting browser history and credit card receipts.  Did you think I wouldn’t find out, slut?”

 

“No, I-“

 

She slapped me.  “No, what?”

 

 

 

“No, Master.”

 

She soothed my slapped cheek and her tone became gentle again.  “Always be honest with me.  There is no way to hide anything from me.  Don’t try.  Ever.  Understand?”

 

 

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

I was embarrassingly aroused and jutting out of my pants; I wanted to cover up with my hands but was required to keep them behind my back.  She rubbed me with her spiked heel, making matters much worse.  Suddenly she grabbed my hair to make me face her.

 

“Why isn’t your clit locked up?  You have a chastity device.  Why aren’t you wearing it?”

 

I was thrown off by the word 'clit' and took a moment too long to reply, resulting in another slap.  I felt like my 25 strokes was about to go up.

“I just got it to experiment, Master.”

 

“Am I an experiment, slave?”

 

Slave?  It was one thing to be required to call Her Master.  It was another for Her to call me slave.  I felt like I was in a locked room with the water up to my chin and my ankles chained to the floor.

 

“No, Master.  No.”

 

 

 

“Then shave it and lock it and keep it shaved and locked.  I won’t tell you again."

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

She took a picture of me with her phone, one that would suffice to end my career at this firm or any other.  The water was continuing to rise in my locked room. 

"You do know, don’t you, how easily you can be terminated now?  Behaving so obscenely in front of your most important client?” 

“I know, Master…” 

Doubtless she would switch off her insanely seductive dominance when dragging me in front of HR and instead present herself as the offended, completely innocent representative of a client who, let's be honest, could have me thrown off the roof if they wanted to.  But as I was trying to come to grips with my permanent unemployability, she lifted my chin again to speak.

 

“But we don’t want that, do we?.  So I will see you on Saturday night.  Dress the part.”

 

“What is the 'part,' Master?”

 

 

 

“Master’s new slut.  Master’s new whore.  Master’s new bitch.  Master’s new slave girl.  White with red accents would work.  White because you are a virgin.  Red because you are a slut.”

 

Virgin?  It was true.  That was why everything was upside down.  Why she could call me "little one" and not seem to simply be playing a part herself.  It was why it sounded absolutely correct.  Because in her world, I was a virgin. 

 

On Saturday I was directed to wait in a room, facing the wall with my arms and legs spread like a perp.  I was “dressed for the part” in mostly white but red panties.  I was also plugged and had leashes attached to my slave collar and chastity device.  And shaved bare.

 

She kept me waiting.  I doubted she was ever late for anything.  She simply wanted me to learn to wait for her.

 

 

 

I knew not to turn around when she entered.  She walked up behind me, took a firm hold of the leash between my legs, and breathed in my ear.  “Good girl.”

And right then, counter-intuitively, I knew I would be ok.  Broken, violated in ways I couldn't even imagine, psychologically reprogrammed as whatever she wanted me to be.  But ok.  Even cherished if I accepted the inevitable without conditions.  And the inevitable was to become whatever she considered a “good girl."

She handed me a large garbage bag.  "For your first task, put everything on the table in this bag and deposit it by the door so it can go out with the evening trash."

"Yes, Master."  I was eager to show my capacity for unthinking compliance.  But when I turned and saw Master in a breathtaking latex dress, I began to wobble.  She had, after all, kept me locked up all week and now presented me with this excruciatingly hot sight....  But tidying up would at least occupy my mind for a few moments. 

Then I saw what she had piled on the table for me to discard with that night's trash: my male clothing and the keys to my chastity device.  I froze, taking in the threshold I was about to cross.  Or be forced to cross.  My delay was cut short as her crop crashed down on my ass giving me my first welt. 

"Never hesitate, slave.  Everything I tell you to do is good for you, whether you understand it or not.  So simply obey without thinking.  That will cost you another 25."

 

 

"Yes, Master."  The water was rising again, but somehow I didn't care.  i would have to learn to be a fish.  Master smiled ever so slightly as I began to stuff everything in the bag.  That smile was all the oxygen I needed.

Hey CO... finally got around to reading.. and thoroughly enjoyed it.. hit all the right notes for me.

Can't wait for the next chapter.

Thanks for sharing ..  are there any other CO adventures/dilemmas  posted on the forum that i should look for?

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11 hours ago, franknot said:

Hey CO... finally got around to reading.. and thoroughly enjoyed it.. hit all the right notes for me.

Can't wait for the next chapter.

Thanks for sharing ..  are there any other CO adventures/dilemmas  posted on the forum that i should look for?

Thanks, Franknot.  I have one other story here.  Some similarities, different tale though.

Next chapter would have to be an actual session or sessions.  My stories are not very prescriptive about session time.  This one covers at most 10 minutes in the dungeon.  It's more about the dynamic of the session; how they got there; the terms of the relationship between Mistress and sub.  And the fact that the sub is in deep doo if he does not present himself at the dungeon but may never be heard from again if he does. 

A sequel might be interesting though.  But it would likewise not take place in a dungeon; rather it would lead them back to the dungeon for another round.

I am always intrigued by consensual nonconsent.  But the standard approaches do nothing for me.  They're either too silly since most of us boys are not secretly spies, prison inmates or alien abductees.  Or they're too angry (revenge-driven - bad boss, landlord, guy who owes you money, steals your laundry, creepy male of some sort).

I like roleplays that let me (us) be more like my real self with a Goddess.  (Hey, why should you have to be a jerk to get kidnapped?  That's discrimination!)

Instead, I can be shy, tongue-tied, genetically submissive, but perhaps not altogether clear on what that means - or can be made to mean. 

All the stories depend on the idea of "slave radar".  The instinct of the dominatrix to know who is or (can be made into) a slave.  I like to think such a psychic capacity exists. 

And they all have ruthless "because I said so" feminization.  Fun...

But again, the next chapter, if there is one, would take place in the dungeon.  I've told Emma.  It may remain a story though.  I look at one or 2 images when writing.  But the person one imagines isn't necessarily of interest to that person.  So at least I get a story out of it.

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17 hours ago, ConsentOptional said:

Thanks, Franknot.  I have one other story here.  Some similarities, different tale though.

Next chapter would have to be an actual session or sessions.  My stories are not very prescriptive about session time.  This one covers at most 10 minutes in the dungeon.  It's more about the dynamic of the session; how they got there; the terms of the relationship between Mistress and sub.  And the fact that the sub is in deep doo if he does not present himself at the dungeon but may never be heard from again if he does. 

A sequel might be interesting though.  But it would likewise not take place in a dungeon; rather it would lead them back to the dungeon for another round.

I am always intrigued by consensual nonconsent.  But the standard approaches do nothing for me.  They're either too silly since most of us boys are not secretly spies, prison inmates or alien abductees.  Or they're too angry (revenge-driven - bad boss, landlord, guy who owes you money, steals your laundry, creepy male of some sort).

I like roleplays that let me (us) be more like my real self with a Goddess.  (Hey, why should you have to be a jerk to get kidnapped?  That's discrimination!)

Instead, I can be shy, tongue-tied, genetically submissive, but perhaps not altogether clear on what that means - or can be made to mean. 

All the stories depend on the idea of "slave radar".  The instinct of the dominatrix to know who is or (can be made into) a slave.  I like to think such a psychic capacity exists. 

And they all have ruthless "because I said so" feminization.  Fun...

But again, the next chapter, if there is one, would take place in the dungeon.  I've told Emma.  It may remain a story though.  I look at one or 2 images when writing.  But the person one imagines isn't necessarily of interest to that person.  So at least I get a story out of it.

   

               Thanks again for sharing CO....

Enjoyed this one too...and again grabbed by the opening and left hanging .. looking for more that i know won't be coming...

Perhaps because i'm woefully inexperienced, there's some of me in your doomed sub, ..especially  "...submissive, but perhaps not altogether clear on what that means - or can be made to mean". 

 

   I had to remind myself that this story came first and i do see the similarities with your latest one.. am i correct in thinking that these openings set the stage for an actual session that will, or has already, taken place at the Fortress?.. That you will have these circumstances forefront in your mind when you get buzzed into the fortress play room?  That the Goddess from "Chapter One" will transform into the player of the moment?

   ** My mental picture of Goddess.. i see her as a petite Asian or Euro-Asian, Lucy Liu-ish, in her prime, type.

      She is a cat like predator, a small, lithe version of an Amazonian warrior, fiercely strong, 

 

  "..... the idea of "slave radar".  The instinct of the dominatrix to know who is or (can be made into) a slave.  I like to think such a psychic capacity exists".   

   **She has the ability to detect an aura that surrounds all submissive souls, and can identify the scent of their unique pheromones. This ability is possessed only by the female descendants of her mid-Asian mountain tribe. ...(forgive me that.. but hey, ..what the fuck.. as long as it's fiction why not take advantage of it)

 

I like that you don't describe the Goddess in detail, but leave it to the reader's imagination .. and that you (me) are just a very real and believable guy, drifting along in our workaday world, nieve, and with secrets that we keep even from our self.. but the aura betrays us and we don't see that open manhole that we're about to step into.

                                                                        **********************************

Are you always tied into your actual work image and circumstances?  Do you ever venture out to other believable, real life surroundings?

Take a peek at my post "A Real Attainable Fortress"... and picture yourself in Italy, attending the wedding dinner of a good friend with an attractive yet somehow disturbing maid of honor seated close by.  The dinner celebration is in the tower .. and didn't someone mention the presence of dungeons somewhere below ...?

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On 11/15/2018 at 4:23 PM, franknot said:

am i correct in thinking that these openings set the stage for an actual session that will, or has already, taken place at the Fortress?.. That you will have these circumstances forefront in your mind when you get buzzed into the fortress play room?  That the Goddess from "Chapter One" will transform into the player of the moment?

Kind of, yes.  Everything for me starts with a story.  I make up stories almost involuntarily.  A shrink would say I am frightened by the randomness of the world and impose order on it by making up stories.  Maybe.  But these particular tales can function as backstories for sessions.  They impose few restrictions on the dominatrix other than, say, tone and creating a pretext.  But they have few dungeon activities in them.

On 11/15/2018 at 4:23 PM, franknot said:

 "..... the idea of "slave radar".  The instinct of the dominatrix to know who is or (can be made into) a slave.  I like to think such a psychic capacity exists".   

   **She has the ability to detect an aura that surrounds all submissive souls, and can identify the scent of their unique pheromones. This ability is possessed only by the female descendants of her mid-Asian mountain tribe. ...(forgive me that.. but hey, ..what the fuck.. as long as it's fiction why not take advantage of it)

Yes!  Run with it.  I see it as the dominatrix variation on Gay-dar.  Why not?

 

On 11/15/2018 at 4:23 PM, franknot said:

Are you always tied into your actual work image and circumstances?  Do you ever venture out to other believable, real life surroundings?

Not my work image.  I don't teach fiduciary policy classes at hotels.  I've gone to them though...  But I stay "close to home" for 2 reasons.  1, I don't use the term Goddess lightly.  You don't want to be in the presence of one and "remembering your lines."  You won't.  Let yourself be a nerd or whatever you're most comfortable with.  2, I treat every session as if it could be my last.  Not that I would never session again.  But that it could become my Mistress.  I don't want to start that in another man's skin so to speak. 

Good luck, Franknot.  Let you imagination run wild.  How many chances do you get to do that in life.

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